


If We're Still Single...

by LokiTheWolf19



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, James MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Being an Asshole, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiTheWolf19/pseuds/LokiTheWolf19
Summary: Jack Dalton and Angus MacGyver are partners and roommates at the LAPD academy. There's no need to admit feelings when you have all the time in the world.Until you don't.Until you might not have time ever again, and all Jack has to hold on to is an empty promise they made long ago.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 30





	1. Home is Where the Heart is

Jack could feel that the sun was beginning to burn his arms. Not the white hot burn that made you long for shade, no, that wouldn't come for another hour or so, but the tender raw feeling that came if you accidentally brushed your fingers over the damaged skin, that let you know it was time to go inside. A shame really. It was a peaceful late afternoon on the roof of the LAPD Academy's dorm building, and Jack was sprawled on one of the faded recliners that adorned the dusty concrete seating area, where everything seemed just a little worn around the edges. The cacophony of the city centre was far enough away to have been reduced to a quiet hubbub and it wasn't uncommon for trainees to be found lounging around, soaking up the last rays of sun in this perfect bubble where silence and chaos seemed to harmonize.

Jack reluctantly dragged himself to his feet and stretched, feeling a small, satisfying pop in his neck. He bent to snatch up his jacket from where it hung, discarded over the back of his lounger and flung it over his shoulder, the leather burning the back of his neck where it had been baking in the hot rays of the sun. He trudged down the stairs to the small dorm room he shared with his course partner and, still blissfully sleep addled, reached out and clicked the door open to reveal a mess, as always. Their living kitchen area was fairly cramped, most of the room taken up by a pair of sagging couches, and a television that had stopped working months ago. Jack wasn't surprised to see his roommate passed out on the less suspicious of the two couches. He was a stomach sleeper, thick blond hair obscured his face and Jack felt a pang of tenderness at the sight. Angus MacGyver was five years his junior and his roommate and course partner. Jack would like to say they were instantly best friends, but that's perhaps as far as possible from the truth. On their first day training for the LAPD, he'd walked in on Mac fiddling with the latch on his locker and, being a punch-first-ask-questions-later kind of guy, Jack Dalton had hit him square in the jaw. Before Mac had a second to react, they were rolling around on the floor, fists flying. When it was announced that they would, in fact, be partners and roommates for the duration of their course, Jack couldn't believe his luck. He was stuck with the nerdy little smartass with the funny hamburger name for the next two years.

They'd barely spoken at first, but when they did, it was with an undertone of hostility. Mac making a point to overcorrect anything and everything Jack did, Jack drawing out every syllable in 'Angus' as if it were an insult, relishing the way Mac would clench his jaw in annoyance.

This went on for a month, at least, each making a point of getting on every one of the other's nerves. One evening, however, as Jack berated the younger man for a mistake made in the field that day, it seemed as if the usually calm blond had reached the end of his tether and whirled around to snap; "Mac. That's my name. Call me Mac, or call me nothing". Jack had rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand through his close cropped dark hair.

"Yeah, whatever man."

Neither had thought much of the outburst, but it became a catalyst for the change in their relationship. The once dysfunctional duo, teetering on the edge of expulsion became a well-oiled machine. Mac's 'outside of the box' thinking and Jack's fiery protectiveness complimented each other perfectly. It took time, but inseparable they became.

The first time they collided was a night that began like any other. A delivery pizza and some beers turned into a night out, and beer became shots and more shots and drunken stumbling home holding each other up and tumbling into bed. But Jack woke up alone. He'd sat, nervously twisting his hands and thinking about what on earth he was going to say when Mac finally got home. If he was coming back. The younger boy had quietly slipped back in five hours later and Jack was instantly on his feet, words catching in his throat.

"Let's talk." Was all Mac had said.

"We were drunk-" Jack began.

"-really drunk." Mac had finished.

"It was-" Jack waved his hands awkwardly.

"-let's just… yeah." Mac ran his hands through his hair, a nervous tic. He'd shrugged it off, blamed it on the alcohol, desperately trying to ignore the weird sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Now, nearing the end of their course, it was but a distant memory that occasionally sprung up to claw at the inside of Jack's ribcage. Regret, perhaps. Or not.

Jack casually glanced at his watch, that and a well-timed growl from his stomach making him realise it was nearing dinnertime. Jack Dalton was by no means an excellent cook, but Mac's cooking was catastrophic, so, if doing the cooking in their relationship was what it took to avoid food poisoning, or more likely another fire scare, then Jack was happy to cook for his best friend. Speaking of, it was probably best to wake sleeping beauty, or he wouldn't sleep later and Jack knew Mac would feel the need to keep him awake until five am on a sleep-deprived rant about physics… or something. He crouched down next to the couch, the way Mac's fringe fluttered minutely with every outbreath almost making him want to abandon dinner altogether and curl up on the couch himself. He nudged Mac's shoulder gently, eliciting a small groan.  
  
"Come on boy wonder," he teased quietly, "I ain't havin' you keepin' me up all night."

Mac flipped over onto his back and scrubbed his eyes, as if to clear the invisible cobwebs of sleep.

"Time is it?" he managed to slur, eyes still closed.

"Time to get your lazy ass off the couch," Jack said sternly, before flicking Mac's nose gently, "c'mon, I'll heat up some a'that pasta I cooked the other night," he offered. At the mention of dinner, Mac's ears perked up and he opened a lazy eye, a bright blue iris peeking out from under a heavy lid.

"The cheese one?" he asked inquisitively, to which Jack nodded.

"You bet punk." Jack heaved himself up from his squatting position and extended a hand that Mac took, pulling the lighter man to his feet. Mac yawned and scratched his neck.

"M'gonna shower," he explained, padding towards their shared bathroom on socked feet.

"It'll be ready when you're out," Jack called after the retreating figure. He shook off a feeling he couldn't quite place and busied himself with preparing food. There was plenty of pasta left for the two of them that night, and Jack figured enough extra for him to reheat in the morning and put in a thermos for Mac's lunch. The pipes creaked loudly, a sign that the shower was running and Jack pulled a saucepan out of the kitchen cabinet, Mac's dissonant humming filling the air. Soon the creamy pasta was bubbling nicely and Jack relaxed, leaning against the kitchen counter and allowing his mind to wander. Well, wander as much as it can when your best friend has upgraded to loud, off-key singing that Jack would no doubt complain about later. But he didn't really mind. Jack's phone timer beeped, signaling that the pasta was ready and he split it into the only two chipped and scratched bowls they owned. Right on cue, a far more awake boy genius strolled into the room, damp hair falling in his face.

"Couch?" Jack asked without looking up, even though he knew the answer. Mac hummed agreeably, swiping a steaming bowl of pasta and a spoon from the counter. Jack wandered after his partner and flopped down next to him so that their shoulders brushed, the old couching creaking beneath their combined weight. They ate in relative silence, the dying golden light creeping in through dusty blinds, catching the dust in the air, so that bright flecks of white danced across Jack's vision and cast harsh dappled shadows on Mac's face.

Upon the completion of their meal, when the dishes had been cleaned, Jack had expected Mac to lock himself in his room and study for a few hours, and was pleasantly surprised when he asked if he wanted to read. Mac and Jack didn't read together often, but when they did, it was always the highlight of Jack's week. Mac would pull a blanket out from his bedroom and they'd curl up and Mac would read out loud, transporting Jack from their empty, shitty dorm room, to a cozy cabin in the woods, with a crackling fire and a fat cat, where everything was warm and safe and colours blurred a little at the edges. Tonight, Mac selected the book they'd been reading and sat on the far end of the couch, Jack settling at the other end, leaning against the arm and placing his feet in Mac's lap. Together they indulged in the domestic bliss, Mac's voice lulling Jack into a false paradise, Mac subconsciously rubbing Jack's foot.

Jack was in love. He knew that, he always had. Maybe it was the way Mac's smile made him feel centuries lighter, or the way that he longed to fall asleep with the blond's head on his chest. But they were young and Jack had always supposed that, even with their unspoken relationship, there was time for love later. Tonight, as Mac read animatedly, voice expressive yet soothing, something felt different.

"Mac?" Jack interrupted. The blond furrowed his brow and cocked his head curiously.

"Yes?"

Jack didn't know what he was saying, or why, until the words came tumbling out, "If I turn thirty-five and you turn thirty, and we're still single, d'you wanna get married?" It was half a joke, half a reflection on how well they worked together, how when Mac was by his side, everything seemed to fall into place.

Mac chuckled, squeezing Jack's foot, "If I never fall in love by the time I'm thirty, I'll marry you," he said casually. Satisfied, Jack hummed and rested his head on the arm of the couch, letting his eyes slip closed as Mac began to read again.

By the time Mac turned the last page, it was gone midnight and a companionable silence overcame them. It was a hot night, the air inside their dorm room felt thick and heavy and Jack was uncomfortably warm in his t-shirt and sweatpants.

"We should sleep," Jack said out loud, but more to himself than his partner, but Mac nodded and stretched, hauling himself to his feet and extending a hand as Jack had done just hours earlier.

"Thanks hoss," Jack muttered, bones feeling heavy and tired. They exchanged brief goodnights and Jack didn't miss the way Mac's fingers lingered on his shoulder.


	2. Weekend Morning Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit I hate this chapter. It's short and badly written and I apologise.

Jack slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, bathing in the sultry heat of their uninsulated dorm room. Somewhere, in the back of his foggy, weekend morning mind, he was aware that it was a lazy Saturday morning, meaning no classes. He'd probably wake up soon, to a hungry Angus MacGyver, who'd nag and cajole him until he cooked breakfast, even if it was just toast. When eventually he could bare to wrench himself back to reality, his eyes cracked open to reveal the bright summer sun streaming in through half closed blinds, casting ribbed shadows across the wall. He stretched the stiffness out of his body and fished his watch off of a rickety bedside table. It was nine o'clock, late for Jack, who was used to getting up at the crack of dawn, a habit he'd learnt in the forces. As well as light, the mid-morning sun brought a fierce warmth and Jack's t-shirt stuck to his back uncomfortably, mouth dry. It was going to be a hot one. He pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed the last traces of sleep from his face. Water, he needed water. He padded into the corridor, which was suspiciously clean, but he was tired and paid it no mind. Sometimes if Mac was bored enough he'd clean. Sometimes.

Jack arrived in the kitchen-lounge area, scratching his jaw. He was irritated at how his five day scruff was harsh on his fingertips and was duly aware that he needed to shave. He almost didn't spot Mac, sitting on the couch, staring listlessly ahead, bulging suitcase at his feet. Jack tilted his head, concerned, his heart catching in his chest.

"Mac?" he asked warily, "Buddy, what's going on?" He hurried toward his partner, brow furrowed, his gruff exterior dropping instantly.

Mac looked up, eyes locking with Jack's and Jack knew he'd seen that look before, in the army. It was mourning, heartbreak.

"There was a car accident," Mac stated numbly, as if he was merely discussing their latest written exam. Jack was by his best friend's side in an instant, crouching down, placing one comforting hand on his knee.

"Your dad?"

Mac shook his head, eyes glazed with the pain of a man that didn't have any tears left. "Lauren, Alyssa," he trailed off. Jack's heart clenched at the mention of Mac's two younger sisters. The pair were much like the boy he adored so much, thick heads of curly blonde hair, gleaming blue eyes, bright minds and gentle, warm souls and he loved them almost as much as Mac did.

"Are they ok? D'you need me to drive you to a hospital?" Jack was aware he was rambling, silently praying to every deity he could name but he didn't care, all that mattered was that he looked after Mac, make it better, he had to make it better.

"Dead," Mac cut him off with a hoarse whisper, "both dead." Jack recoiled, pulling his hand off Mac's knee like it burnt. To touch him now somehow seemed a gross violation of the grieving man.

"Mac, I-" Jack began, rubbing his face, hardly believing what he was hearing, like he'd been plunged into an ice cold nightmare, with no hope of waking up.

"Don't," Mac shook his head, avoiding Jack's eyes, "please don't Jack." His voice was heavy with loss, "I have to go home. I have to be with my dad. I have to-"

Realisation dawned upon Jack as Mac's words slipped in and out of the front of his mind, that there were only solo assignments left, that Jack would graduate, but that he didn't know how long he'd be away. But that didn't matter, because Mac was leaving. Mac was going back to Minnesota to bury his grief and bury his sisters. He wasn't going to graduate. He wasn't going to become a cop and save lives and do right like he was supposed to. And Jack was going to be alone.

"Do you want me to fly up with you?" Jack offered, "I can be back in a few days, I won't miss anything, or I can stay, as long as you need," he was almost desperate, silently begging Mac to look him in the eyes and tell him he needed Jack as much as Jack needed him.

"No, Jack," Mac smiled sadly, "I need to be alone. And you need to be here."

And that's how Jack Dalton ended up at Los Angeles Airport, saying goodbye to the last thing that meant anything to him. Holding back tears, because this wasn't about him. He gripped his phone tightly, his one solace the contact listed with Mac's name that had been there since the first day they met. He'd stood, frozen, grief-stricken until the thick head of dirty blond hair disappeared from view and realised, with a pang, that Mac had never looked back.


	3. Angus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably worth mentioning that all of this is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own! Sorry for the short chapter and the jarring time skip, but you'll get used to it and I'll hopefully have another chapter out soon!

_Five months later_

Mac slammed the door of his hastily parked Jeep and trudged across the empty, snowy carpark. It was early winter in Minnesota and the rocky ground was covered in an icy white crust that crackled and fractured under his heavy boots. It was cold and he wore a thick coat, hands firmly crammed in his pockets, neck hidden from the biting wind by a thick faux fur lining. As he rounded the corner from the carpark, the rows of grey headstones came into view and the flowers clutched in his hand started to burn. When he finally found the one he was looking for, he stood in silence, placing the flowers on the dull ground, face as vacant and impassive as the slab before him. He waited, momentarily overcome by a wave of grief that tightened around his heart and threatened to spill over the edges. He swallowed it, and, turning on his heel, strode back towards his car, trying to push away the guilt that seemed to stalk him home.

Mac was living with his father in his childhood home, though it felt far emptier than he could remember. He'd never really loved his father, not after he'd disappeared when Mac's mother died, leaving him and his sisters without an explanation, to be cared for by their elderly grandfather for years. And in turn, the girls had always been the apple of James MacGyver's eye, unsatisfied with his MIT graduate son, who'd abandoned 'a career and his potential' in pursuit of working in the police force. And yet here they were, the grieving boy tasked with keeping alive the man he loathed. So Mac snuck around, treaded lightly, left no trace, so placid and compliant it was almost as if the house held one dying man, as opposed to two.

He closed the door as quietly as possible, tensing when it clicked softly.

"Angus?" came his father's voice from the longue room. God he hated that name. He groaned faintly and let his head thump lightly against the door. He plastered on a neutral expression and strode in, leaning casually against the door frame.

"Yes?"

"Where have you been? " James asked, a frown evident on his face.

"I was out." Mac responded icily. He was a grown up for heaven's sakes. James was clearly not satisfied with his answer but dropped the subject and Mac retreated to his bedroom, flopping on his unmade bed and taking a deep, shuddering breath. He lay for a while, head in his hands, blond hair flopping over his fingertips. God he needed it cut. He was surprised and started slightly when his phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, seeing Jack's name and a photo of the two of them on the academy roof flash across the screen. Heavy with guilt and grief, he pushed the device away, slumping face first into his pillow, letting it ring out. He must have fallen asleep, because when he came to, his phone was nearly flat and the last whisper of light streaming through his curtains was the sickly pale colour of a late winter afternoon. He rolled over with a groan, brain and mouth dry and sticky from sleep. He plugged his phone in, and it lit up to show a voicemail from Jack. Ignoring the way it tugged at his heart, he raised it to his ear and clicked play, Jack's voice bursting through the speakers clear as a bell.

_Hey hoss, just checkin' in. It's been a while._ Jack paused _I miss y- miss havin' you around. Anyway hoss. Ring me._

Mac couldn't help but choke up a little. He missed Jack too, more than anything. More than his life in LA, more than the academy, more than he hated his father, he loved Jack. Missed Jack. Loved Jack. He wasn't sure.


End file.
